


Canopies

by Ameagare



Series: In the Rain [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, a few more mentions of shoujo manga, but also fluff, can be read as standalone, hideous umbrella, rewritten 8/3/14, spoilers up to chapter 90, very slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameagare/pseuds/Ameagare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima gets his umbrella stolen, and will never admit it but reads shoujo manga for reference. Yamaguchi  walks home with him, and is the only first year on the team who doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canopies

At nine o’clock several hours after he leaves home for morning practice, clouds are beginning to stain the formerly unblemished sky, causing Tsukishima Kei to wonder if it’ll actually rain despite the fact the morning’s weather report stated an unlikely thirty percent chance. His weather app boasts a doubly high percentage of sixty-something, but he’s unsure if either of these predictions are really all that reliable due to the numerous times they’ve wronged him in the past.

He brought an umbrella anyways; shoved it in his shoebox once the school building opened so that he didn’t have to carry it around. It’s not as if the extra weight of the umbrella was a noteworthy burden, but the way it bulged from the side of his bag was unsightly, going against his inclination toward neat alignment. He took one final look at it before closing the box, reminded of earlier when his brother teasingly held up two umbrellas and told him to choose one to take, and slams the door shut.  
  
In Akiteru’s left hand was one which would be considered hideous, covered almost entirely by mini, realistic-but-neon renditions of stegosauruses, tyrannosaurs, ceratopsians, raptors, and even hadrosaurs which were numerous millions of years ago but somehow unpopular in the modern age, and then some. Tsukishima—the younger Tsukishima if it needed clarification—wasn’t sure where his brother had acquired such an item, but he coveted it greatly even while hyperaware that it was one of the most visually-insulting things on Earth and probably should have been burned in a thousand degree flame. A lump formed in his throat, eyes drawn to the folded-over fabric where he could make out the frill of a triceratops, as brightly colored as it was accurate, and his fingers twitched. The movement was perceived, Akiteru’s sly grin being proof of that (he knew Tsukishima would like it when he bought it).  
  
Eyes narrowed, Tsukishima felt the slightest pang of regret as his arm shot out to grasp the other umbrella, which is plainly, solidly blue. As it’s pulled from his fingers, Akiteru’s face dropped to a frown, because he was sure Tsukishima would take it this time. There were two main reasons he wouldn’t:  
  
1.It is  _ugly as sin_ , which even he could agree about in spite of his personal bias, and he wouldn’t be caught carrying that around school under any circumstances be him dead or alive.  
  
And 2.That was the third time Akiteru’s done this in the last week, so although he wants to count how many ankylosauruses he could find studying the pictures in close detail, Tsukishima didn’t want to give his older brother the satisfaction, meaning surrendering then was completely unacceptable.  
  
The whines of, “come on Kei, you’re making me sad, I got this just for you,” didn’t change anything. To drown out the noise of particularly persistent complaints, he sank onto the couch pulling headphones over his ears. Didn’t even play any music, but Akiteru didn’t know that and gave up within the next minute, disappearing into the kitchen to continue watching the news.  
  
Some time later, soft, muffled knocks on hardwood are heard, and he got up from his position to answer the door.  
  
As expected it was Yamaguchi, who greeted him with a, “good morning Tsukki!” like every other day. Tsukishima wondered how the people around him could be so chipper this early in the morning when not even the sun has risen.  
  
“…Morning,” he replied anyways, opening the door wider to let Yamaguchi in—they had a good ten minutes or so before they needed to leave. Akiteru’s head popped around the corner.  
  
His mouth was occupied fully when he said, “Do you guys want one?” holding up a carton of biscuits. With each word, Tsukishima could see the half-eaten brown mush he didn’t finish chewing and mentally gags.  Off to the side, Yamaguchi doesn’t seem to mind as much, but he’s not focusing on the barely masticated mess in Akiteru’s mouth.  
  
Yamaguchi greeted his brother and Tsukishima takes that time to excuse himself to the restroom. Conversation between them was too fast for him when his brain still thought it was sleeping. The birds have only just begun chirping; it’s barely 5:30, such is the sacrifice of a dedicated sportsman.  
  
It’s not like he would miss anything important, he thought, because the two usually end up talking about him, fervent exchanges along the lines of “Guess what Kei did yesterday!” and “Tsukki scored the highest in class on the last math quiz!” which only make him feel awkward as the subject matter. He was unaccustomed to that amount of praise. Forgoing the restroom, he retreats to his room for a while, later emerging when Yamaguchi told him they’d be late for practice if they didn’t go soon.  
  
On their way out, both of them received hard slaps on the back from Akiteru, though Yamaguchi got an additional thumbs-up and a wink, or, it was supposed to be a wink but was more like a one-eyed squint with an odd nose crinkle. The face got a chuckle, and Yamaguchi also offered a thumb in return. Probably some inside joke they made, Tsukishima concluded, but he had no more time to think of it as Akiteru spotted him watching and went for him with the intention of ruffling his hair to shambles. He escaped at once, leaving his underclothes-clad brother standing outside their house, arms outstretched, and an unprepared Yamaguchi to trail after him, shouting for him to wait up.

* * *

By twelve o’clock, darkened clouds fill the sky, and several students in Tsukishima’s class can be heard groaning about how they forgot an umbrella and pleading with the weather deities to let it not rain. Some spaced-out falling droplets can be made out when Tsukishima looks out the window, yet they’re too scarce too be collectively dubbed a sprinkle. The teacher expresses some overanalyzing opinion about a story in their textbook, which Tsukishima blocks out almost completely, and instead glances to the side at Yamaguchi.

He’s faced forward, slouched to a cozy position in his seat, a pencil in-hand jotting down notes about whatever the teacher just said, until he appears to sense Tsukishima’s gaze and turns his head so that he doesn’t have to strain his eyes. His focus darts between the teacher and his friend, and after a few seconds, he points to the front of the class and mouths, “ _Tsukki,_ ” and some other part Tsukishima can’t make out, but uses context clues to guess is, “ _pay attention_ ,” or, “ _look at the front_ ,” while Yamaguchi taps the air near his face implying imaginary glasses. He turns back to the chalkboard with upturned lips, just in time for the teacher to finish saying, “notice the way the author leads into their eventual romance by adding in subtle, intimate interactions between them.”  
  
After Yamaguchi stops looking, Tsukishima allows a sigh and follows his line of vision back to their teacher, who by now is telling them to turn the page so that they can move on to the next topic of discussion. For the rest of the lesson, he does listen, somewhat, but only because he has nothing better to do and it’s better than having to go over it himself later. Every once in a while, he peers back at Yamaguchi but there’s no contact between their eyes, so he placates himself by trying to count the spots on his left cheek.  
  
_One... three… I think that one’s two so twelve…_  
  
_Seventeen? No, eighteen… I lost count..._  
  
_One…_  
  
_Two…_  
  
_Three…_  
  
But they’re too far away for him to get a good look, so he gives up, leaving it for later, and starts writing once more.

* * *

It’s minutes before three, there’s finally enough moisture cascading from the sky to be considered rain, and the school bell is ringing, releasing any students without class or cleanup duty to observe to their afterschool activities. From the second floor up, tops of umbrellas can be seen bobbing from side to side, the people underneath hidden from view while they participate in the ventures of the go-home club. Others, such as those of the Karasuno volleyball teams, will stay a bit longer.

The initial flood of students leaving is always crowded and pushy–even more so today with all the water-induced hesitation. It gives the impression of endlessness for a few minutes but wanes out to a slow trickle just like the rain outside. Having waited for this, Tsukishima stops at the shoe lockers, now much less cramped, to change out of his school slippers and grab his umbrella.  
  
Except his umbrella isn’t there.  
  
His shoes are, at least, so he puts them on then peeks back into the box in case he somehow missed it.  
  
Still not there.  
  
He picks up on Yamaguchi approaching behind him, asking, “Are you done yet?” and his reply is, “Let me check the lost-and-found,” as he places his slippers inside and slams the door, cursing the fact these lockers have nowhere to put a lock. Why are they even called lockers?  
  
“Did you lose something, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi inquires, cocking his head to the side with a quizzical, wide-eyed expression.  
  
“Isn’t that obvious?” he says, annoyed, because why else would he go to the lost-and-found? His shoulder gets friendly with one of the walls when he maneuvers past him and some second years. Yamaguchi scratches the back of his head and gives him an apologetic, open-mouthed grin while he follows.  
  
“Sorry, Tsukki.”  
  
 Tsukishima arrives at the lost item box. T-shirts, jackets, shoes, and even some pants, knick-knacks meant for cell phones, pencil cases full of pencils, and a few miscellaneous, questionable items are jumbled together or piled atop each other. With a grimace, he sticks a hand inside and rummages around, trying his hardest to touch with the least amount of skin possible as if everything inside were diseased. The umbrella isn’t there as well. Nor is any other umbrella as all have been claimed, and he allows himself another sigh before turning to the exit; he’ll have to walk home in the rain.  
  
Two paces behind him is Yamaguchi, wordless and fretting. What Tsukishima lost is rather obvious at this point, but he knows he can’t do much about the fact his umbrella was stolen and any mentions of it would probably sour his mood further, so he pretends to be clueless and tries making conversation about how ironic it was that their English teacher bit her tongue trying to say, “pronounce.” Inside their minds, both of them wonder who would have taken his umbrella.  
  
_Someone with a grudge,_  is Tsukishima’s first thought, because he knows he can be rather snide and blunt, and most of the time people don’t take that in stride. Some of the members of the volleyball team appear, but none of them have any serious hatred for him or enough capacity to steal something of his, so he crosses them off as options. He’s never bothered learning the names of all his classmates, but a few nameless faces of people he’s snubbed are the main suspects, so he’ll play some mind games with them to figure it out once Monday rolls around.  
  
On the other hand, Yamaguchi thinks,  _I bet it’s his fangirls._ There aren’t many people in the school who, held to their own standards, could honestly say Tsukishima wasn’t a handsome guy. Over the course of nearly their entire friendship, every once in a while, Yamaguchi would be approached by some shy girl, or one loud and demanding, or sometimes one fitting into neither category, and even groups of them, who  _always_  came with motives related to Tsukishima. “What’s his favorite color?” and “does Tsukishima-kun have a girlfriend?” and, the worst of it, back when they were in middle school as the day had not yet occurred in their life of secondary schooling, February fourteenth’s “what kind of chocolate does he like?” Girls were intense whenever they could catch him alone.  
  
Love letters and gifts were pushed onto him for delivery, which always made him nervous because the reactions to them were cold and brutal. “I have no interest in people who can’t even give me gifts themselves,” Tsukishima would say. One time in a particularly bad mood, he even threw some baked goods into the trash, though Yamaguchi had dug them out and nervously expressed that he should at least think about the other’s feelings, shoving the prettily-wrapped package into Tsukishima’s chest telling him to return it or keep it. Since that first time, Tsukishima has made him the messenger and he’s the one who’s had to deal with the brunt of the sender’s wrath, but at least there were no wasted cookies.  
  
Still, Yamaguchi has to admit that something that makes him even more anxious than hysterical girls with scorned feelings would be if Tsukishima actually accepted any proposals thrown his way.  He never has, but there’s always a chance someone especially cute (not that the ones before weren’t, because they were), small with perfect hair and skin who could put up with Tsukishima’s snark and confidently retort with their own, would come along and there would be no more time for him.  
  
Because he’s just Yamaguchi; 180 centimeters tall with messy hair, freckly-faced Yamaguchi, who doesn’t feel confident enough to refute with wit, even after all the time he’s spent with Tsukishima.  
  
Of course, he doesn’t even know what Tsukishima’s ideal type is—Yamaguchi is too afraid to bring it up and any related subjects rarely came up in conversation—but he’s struck with unease every time he’s handed bubbly handwriting on fancy stationary; or a brave contender seeks out Tsukishima _without_  using him as a mediator; or the blond is called out to the courtyard where a restless girl waits, just like one of those manga Tsukishima has been reading of late when he thinks Yamaguchi isn’t watching, that he’ll be left behind.  
  
The fear is irrational when he factors in Tsukishima’s personality and the fact that the bespectacled boy isn’t as cruel as others see him as, so it’s unlikely he’d be left alone because to some degree he’s mutually cared about and he’s aware of that, but that doesn’t stop the rising panic that starts from his gut and moves up to his chest and lungs, chokes him slowly, leaving him short of air and wobbly like a newborn foal. He presents what he’s given to Tsukishima anyways, because he empathizes with the girls who work up enough courage to give them to him albeit indirectly, with congratulating expression on his face, wishing him happiness on the outside while internally hoping he’ll reject them without a second thought.  
  
So far he hasn’t been let down.  _So far_ , he thinks, examining the back of Tsukishima’s head as they head outside,  _so far._ __

* * *

In the changing room, Yamaguchi watches Tsukishima watch Kageyama get confused about his jacket, because the setter pulls it on and it doesn’t fit. “Boyfriend shirt,” Tsukishima sneers into Yamaguchi’s ear, observing that the puny jacket actually belongs to Hinata who for some reason isn’t in the locker room yet, and receives a small snort in reply. While changing, they see Kageyama open up Hinata’s sports bag, digging around and then pulling a face Yamaguchi describes as “constipated,” and they get a few more laughs from that. He thinks Tsukishima is in a better mood after that, because he mocks those in the locker room with a lively smirk. Those ridiculed include but are not limited to: Sugawara whose collection of hidden snacks has been found by Sawamura (Tsukishima has always known and has been counting down the days until they were discovered), Azumane who tries to calm down their captain but ends up getting noogied, and Hinata who arrives after everyone else and somehow messes up the process of undressing.

  
“Smooth,” Tsukishima says to the redhead, making sure to sound as sarcastic as possible, and Yamaguchi accompanies his taunts even though he’s actually pretty partial to Hinata. But he does agree that it’s hilarious the way his face looks when he realized he’s stuck, frustrated over pants while he waddles and hops trying to kick off his shoes.  
  
 On the walk to the gym, they take their time, and they’re about to step into the gym when a flash of orange and black passes Yamaguchi then Tsukishima, and Hinata bares his tongue at them in childish retaliation. They end up getting the last laugh, because he gets pounded in the face with a volleyball not five seconds after.

* * *

Seven o’clock is when practice ends, and most of the team is finished showering and changing back into regular clothes. The rain is now pouring down, each globule like a spike of ice heavy against any bit of Tsukishima’s skin they can find until he arrives under the gym. His schoolbag and headphones are tucked safely in his waterproof sports bag underneath towels, so they’re safe from getting wet, but he isn’t, and the rain looks as if it’ll go on for hours. He has nothing to do, so he taps his feet while he listens to drops hitting the ground, and thinks.

Yamaguchi would probably share his umbrella with him if he asks, but he wouldn’t (it’s also plausible that he would just give him his umbrella if he asks, but contrary to popular belief, Tsukishima isn’t  _that_  big of a jerk, so again, he wouldn’t). The moisture in the air fogs up his glasses, and he wipes them on his shirt but it’s a useless endeavor because the process repeats seconds later. He breathes on the lenses with warm breaths—a method taught to him by Yamaguchi—and his vision is un-obscured for a good minute before they cool and begin to cloud once more. A lot of things remind him of Yamaguchi, so he begins to contemplate him, who his mind wanders to and who he waits for underneath the roof.  
  
In all honesty, Tsukishima can’t help but wonder how they’ve been friends for so long.  
  
Somewhere back in primary school, they met outside the elementary auditorium, which was much like the one he stands next to now but smaller, less impressive. Yamaguchi told him that they actually met earlier than that, but he can’t recall when or how so the topic was brushed off and never addressed further.  
  
Unsurprisingly, volleyball was how they met and what they bonded over.  
  
As children, Yamaguchi used to be short and scrawny while Tsukishima was abnormally tall even then, towering over his classmates even when he slouched. Now they’re only three inches apart, but they still have their respective freckles and glasses from early minor impairments of inherited sensitive skin and crummy eyesight. Their personalities were rather opposite (as they still are), Yamaguchi having been reserved and self-conscious while Tsukishima has always been a bit conceited and headstrong, but they got along like any other pair. It was always nice talking to Yamaguchi, because he was genuinely interested whenever he bragged about his older brother and was always amiable, and was good at keeping up conversations while stroking his childish ego. They played and talked together, and when they learned a particularly interesting fact, they’d go to each other to disclose it before anyone else. Secrets didn’t exist between them and their instantly-formed connection; they were like open books to each other.  Six years ago in third grade, Yamaguchi Tadashi and Tsukishima Kei became best friends.  
  
That was also the year Tsukishima started hating volleyball. Or more precisely, the year he stopped caring so much. It was the year when he stopped believing in hard work and effort by “normal people,” of underdogs, of trying to become more than what he was. To tell the truth, he’s not really sure if he hated volleyball or if he ever stopped hoping. Not completely at least. He thinks he did, but he ended up coming back again and again. Perhaps it was some kind of inclination towards it, some little light flickering weakly in the sad haze of disappointment plaguing his young nine-year-old mind, or the smaller hand pulling him along telling him come on, it’d be fun, he’d have fun, he shouldn’t quit yet, _you’re cool when you play volleyball, Tsukki_.  
  
Now that he thinks back, not many people wanted to stay with him when he was stuck in a state between disillusioned and frustrated, because his tongue became sharp and his mouth became loose so his close companionship wasn’t much sought after, except for by Yamaguchi. He feels sorry for that, because he can remember numerous occasions Yamaguchi would get caught up in the groundless fights he picked, defending him even when he was in the wrong. Some time later, he did calm down his anger yet remained apathetic, and even now his outward personality hasn’t changed much, but years into the future he’s relearning how to hold things close to his heart without believing they’ll break.  
  
He’s picking up the pieces with Akiteru, or maybe whatever shattered is already fixed back together, he doesn’t know. He’s smart, but he doesn’t know a lot of things. They haven’t talked about what happened upfront, but they hold back because they can see each other moving past it, taking all their regrets and wasted time with them.  
  
And he’s putting more effort into volleyball. More training done right. He still does it begrudgingly, at least on the outside, but he’s rising above just a “passing grade.”   
  
So he decided that sooner or later he’ll do something about his relationship with Yamaguchi when one of them works up the nerve. Tsukishima is observant enough, or so he thinks he is, to pick up on what Yamaguchi feels about him because the other boy is not exactly the best actor in the world. There’s a little bit of confusion regarding if Yamaguchi knows about his own crush, or if it’s actually a crush, but they’re still young and have years ahead of them, and Tsukishima tells himself this is one of the few things he has confidence in even though they’re still learning about themselves and each other. Maybe he won’t say anything, not immediately or all at once—they have plenty of time to spare, after all—but someday Tsukishima knows he’ll be able to look Yamaguchi in the eye and spout some corny lines of gratitude like, “Thank you for always being there for me, even when I’m at my worst. Thanks for putting up with me; sorry, I know I’m asshole. But I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so please continue being tolerant and always stay by my side, Yamaguchi.”  
  
Half of those were taken from shoujo manga, so he’ll have to come up with something else, but even if he messes up Yamaguchi would probably still laugh and forgive him, and he can try again then.  
  
Even so, he wouldn’t share an umbrella with him, because the arc size of Yamaguchi’s covered only the standard size of just 46” all around. As nice as it’d be to have coverage deflecting the rain, they’d have to squeeze shoulder-to-shoulder to fit, and he’s not ready for that nor is he ready to admit he’d like to. Besides, who ever hears about two boys sharing an umbrella? Like in fiction, because society has little tolerance for anything else, it’s only ever a young girl and boy, or maybe female friends, but never really two males.  
  
_How do people even share umbrellas without getting embarrassed?_  Tsukishima thinks, because he can’t even imagine things like handholding or hugging without dying a little inside. The whole thing is so obvious, what with all the public intimacy and all, and you can tell that the people underneath are either dating or at least one of them wants to start.  
  
Then off in the distance, near the walkway to the school, he sees Kageyama and Hinata, and they’re strolling away using the same an umbrella, and Tsukishima almost drives his palm into his face.  
  
As they stroll out of view oblivious to the world, Yamaguchi walks down the stairs of the locker rooms and makes his way to Tsukishima. “Thanks for waiting, Tsukki!” he says, patting some water off his bag.  
  
“Whatever. Let’s go.” Tsukishima barely has the energy to respond right now. It’s been sucked away by the bumbling idiot duo. He had clues something like that was going on between them, and he joked about it all the time, but seeing the real thing was a whole different level and now he might have to rethink the whole “boys never share umbrellas” thing. He begins walking, but he feels his arm get yanked and suddenly he’s moving backwards. He hears a shaky utterance of atonement and the rustle of articles pushed around a sports bag until Yamaguchi finds what he’s looking for.  
  
“…I’m not sharing an umbrella with you.”  
  
His pulse reverberates through his sternum and ribcage as he stares down the deep blue material, several shades darker than the one stolen from him. But a pink-faced (not that he’s much better) Yamaguchi places it in his hands and begins digging in his bag once more, telling him, “I know that,” and he absolutely beams as he pulls out another item, ”You don’t have to.”  
  
The familiar spectrum of brightness burns into his retinas. “Akiteru-san gave it to me. You might as well since no one’s around at this time anyways.”  
  
Tsukishima seethes.  
  
He’s been betrayed.  
  
Yamaguchi’s intentions are good, being the only person outside his family to know about his  _slight_  obsession with prehistoric life, but now he’s the loser in the sibling standoff. He’s never really admitted outright that he collects stuff like this—only when it’s the anatomically on point—but it’s easy to tell when you see his shelf filled with models and fossil study books. A look at Yamaguchi’s now-timid demeanor as he anticipates a reaction, and another at the heavy shower makes Tsukishima let the resentment fade to appreciation instead, but he leaves the dinosaur-patterned contraption in Yamaguchi’s hands.  
  
“Thanks, Yamaguchi.”  
  
_For everything_ , he adds in his mind. He’ll say it out loud someday.  
  
Tsukishima unfurls the blue umbrella and walks into the onslaught of rain, stopping when he doesn’t hear footsteps splashing in puddles behind him, because Yamaguchi is shifting nervously in place, befuddled over whether or not he’s angry. “You use it. Hurry up,” he finally says, and remains stationary so that the brunette can catch up. The dots on Yamaguchi’s face scrunch up over his widespread smile in realization, and he runs, drenching his shoes, socks, legs, until his pace is level with Tsukishima’s and he replies, “okay, Tsukki!”  
  
So they walk home, side-by-side, highlighted by streetlamps underneath rainbow and lapis lazuli canopies, and Tsukishima uses the horrible dinosaur print as an excuse to continue counting Yamaguchi’s freckles.


End file.
